


The Benefits Of Heartbreak

by Rcmanov



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten-centric, Fluff, M/M, Post-Break Up, Sad Ending, Unrequited Love, i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2018-12-12
Packaged: 2019-09-17 02:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16966164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rcmanov/pseuds/Rcmanov
Summary: I was nothing specialBut thanks to the scars that you left behindI became the main characterin a sad love storyIn this sad love story





	The Benefits Of Heartbreak

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is based off of _the benefits of heartbreak_ by epik high, you can listen to it [here (youtube)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ccw9NbLEBI) or [here (spotify)](https://open.spotify.com/track/00JtB9hdWM8PO2gSBP9nd3)

_The traffic lights are blinking_

_And the autumn leaves are rolling on the ground_

_They do their job_

_But why am I like this?_

“Ten? Ten? TEN?”

He jumps, startled. Taeyong shakes his arm, before dragging him forward. He blinks, once, twice, chasing his daydreaming away. The traffic light across the street they’re crossing is tiredly blinking back at him to indicate that soon cars will replace pedestrians on the asphalt, the little character crossing is a violent green. Taeyong gets them on the other sidewalk before the cars can have the chance to start their engines.

“What was that?” he asks, worried.

Truthfully, Ten has no answer to supply. No excuse. He was somewhere else, far away, before being forcefully brought back to reality. It has happened a few times lately, but he tries not to think about what it could mean. What good would it bring? Instead, he clings onto Taeyong’s arm a little harder and chases the thought away by cracking a joke.

He misses Taeyong’s worried glance.

Although the weather has got chilly lately, they both walk with their long coats open. As they’ve done several days in a row, they’ve decided to walk home to their respective flats instead of waiting for a bus that might never come (who knows, with this city).

They stop for a moment on the bridge, staring into the distance. Their breaths form little clouds illuminated by the nearest lampposts. The first thought that pops up in Ten’s head is that it means that the temperature has to be lower than 12°C, and he wishes he could banish that thought away as the slight tug in his chest resumes.

“Autumn is truly here now,” Taeyong says, and Ten knows Taeyong is wincing. He knows his joints ache every time winter approaches. Ten has told him a million times to move to somewhere warm, where he will never have to worry about winter’s icy embrace ever again. And a million times Taeyong has refused, because this city is like the first girlfriend he never had, he keeps talking shit about her, but he can’t find it in himself to leave her.

For a moment, they say nothing and just watch down below, on the path next to the river’s bank, where the wind is playing with the bright-coloured fallen leaves, messing with the diligently gathered piles that city employees would have got rid of in the morning (Ten has always wondered what happened to those leaves. Were they burnt? Buried? Scattered away to the wind, somewhere far from here?). He sighs, unconsciously. A long time ago, or at least, that’s what it feels like, he didn’t know autumn. Until he moved here, he only knew of warm and humid climates that suffocated you in summer. He grew to be fond of autumn, its colours, its sad weather and its cosy evenings.

He finds himself in them.

 

_The nights are still bright without you_

_And autumn, too, will turn into spring_

_But why am I like this?_

_What do I live for?_

Their paths diverge a few hundred metres after the bridge. Taeyong hurries to the late-night convenience store he knows will be open even though they’re now closer to dawn than to dusk after saying goodbye to Ten. He stands there, alone in the sleeping city. Although he was on the verge of collapsing when they left the studio earlier, he now feels more than alert. The well-lit surrounding streets hold out against the darkness of the night. He contemplates the street lights challenging the stars in the sky.

Ten notices the moon smiling down on him. It’s full, another light defending him from the shadows. He stands there for a long time, listening to the quiet of the night. He has always been fond of the night, it has always been good at keeping his secrets. When all is said and done, it’s good to know he still has someone to confide in. The night has never let him down. The night has never stopped being there for him, and it can’t be said of everyone. He sighs again, trying to shake off the tightness in his chest.

He finally decides to move, convinces his legs to take him home. Ha. Funny word. Only a few minutes separate him from his place, in this suburban area where the elegant buildings huddled together have been replaced by bigger, more spaced out industrial apartment complexes. He hurries up the stairs, to his little flat on the last floor. Of course, no elevators. He used to say that every day was a leg day. Now it just clears his head.

He unlocks the door, quiet as a cat, takes off his shoes, and tries not to look at the state of the sink when he passes by the small kitchen. It can wait. As he lets his bag fall to the floor and himself crash on the sofa he uses as a bed when he’s too tired to unfold it into a proper one (which is most days lately), a thought goes through Ten’s head.

‘Thank god for the shower at the studio so I don’t have to get up again.’

He manages to roll on his back, he knows too well how easily the texture of the sofa’s rough fabric can imprint itself on his cheek. He blinks a few times, and he knows he won’t be able to fight sleep for much longer. He stares at the ceiling. Things will get easier once spring comes. They have to.

 

_Again, had quite a bit to do today_

_Washing the dishes, cleaning my room, tidying my desk_

_How thankful I was for those that mindlessly returned to their original place_

_The small chores I’ve left undone are now what guide my broken self_

Ten doesn’t feel quite rested when he awakes, but at least he feels a little further from death and a little closer to a human being. His limbs hurt a little but when do they not. He is short, yes, but not enough to comfortably to lie on the sofa for an entire night. The sun rays fill the room through the open curtains, and by the look of it, he deduces that he hasn’t overslept. His body on autopilot knows its duty well. He looks around him and sighs. How he can make the tiny apartment that much of a mess is still a mystery to him after all these years. He winces as his stomach begs him to feed it food, _anything edible_ would do, but instead he gets up and picks up the abandoned sock lying on the coffee table to add it to the concerningly high pile of laundry.

And so he starts his free day by cleaning the flat and clearing his mind. He finds that it’s easy to quiet his mind and his aching heart by committing to those meaningless tasks. He _has_ neglected the apartment, his safe place, his refuge, his haven of loneliness. He looks around. It hadn’t been this lonely lately.

Ten shakes his head. What’s the point. He chases the thought away, and starts to tidy the living room, putting things back where they belong on the shelves, folding the blanket back on the couch, arranging the art supplies on his makeshift desk in a corner. He picks up clothes, and more clothes, and realises that he will have to go down to the laundry room, because buying new clothes instead of washing the old ones is simply not a viable option as long as he can’t comfortably make ends meet.

Then, he moves on to the kitchen space. He stops himself from letting out a complaint. It is his fault after all. No point in blaming people long gone. He chews a random cereal bar he found at the bottom of a drawer as he attacks the pile of dishes he caught a glimpse of as he stumbled to the couch. He turns on the radio, hums along to the old school Queen track as he scrubs (or attempts to at least) the burnt bottom of a pan. That’s from the following day, right after his heart broke. He wishes that it was that easy to scrape feelings away as he watches the grease and filth slowly disappear down the drain.

Ten hears his phone vibrate somewhere between the cushions of the sofa, surprised that it hasn’t died during the night. It’s probably Taeyong. It has to be. It’s not like a lot of people message him lately. When people grow up, he has realised, they don’t have as much time for their friends anymore. It’s alright, he tells himself, he can live without the constant reassurance that he is loved. It only feels lonely because _he_ doesn’t text anymore.

‘Nothing will bring him back anyway,’ he tells himself, as he puts the pan to dry on the side of the sink, before moving onto the next item, a plate he has managed not to chip. David Bowie sings about a US major lost in outer space. And somehow Ten can relate.

A shattered frame remains untouched on the ground. Another day.

 

_The moment your hands left mine, they were replaced by the rushing hands of time_

_I find myself flipping through the final pages of books that would’ve been left unread_

As he is about to leave the flat, his laundry basket tucked under one arm, he notices the book lying abandoned on the kitchen counter. He hesitates for a second, before picking it up and throwing it on top of the pile of clothes. The building feels empty, which does not seem completely abnormal in the middle of a weekday. Even the retired couple living on the same floor as Ten are away on some errands, or so it seems. He makes his way down the stairs that lead to the basement and the laundry room. Thankfully, it’s a nice basement, free of giant, hairy spiders and other undesired friends.

As he expects, Ten finds the room empty. Save for the low purr of the central heating system, the basement is absolutely silent. Mechanically, he loads the clothes and the bedding into the closest machine. Mindlessly pours some of the powder detergent into the dedicated compartment. He doesn’t bother separating the whites, let alone using fabric softener. Thoughtlessly, he turns the washing machine on and watches as it slowly starts rotating, soaking the fabric.

Objectively, he doesn’t have to stay down there in the damp room. But there’s only a handful of things which are more relaxing than the sound of washing machines, one of them being the sound of the dishwasher late at night. Ten doesn’t own a dishwasher.

So he picks up the abandoned book lying at the bottom of the laundry basket. He quickly assesses the room, notices the absence of a chair. A sigh leaves his lips as he climbs on top of a machine leaning against the opposite wall. He manages to find what resembles a comfortable position, and as a relaxing humming fills the room, he opens the book and starts reading.

* * *

 

“Ten,” a voice calls from the kitchen, followed by some clattering.

He pretends not to hear, focuses on the page he is currently reading. It’s only autumn, and the weather is still more than bearable, but he’s still snuggled on the little sofa, a fuzzy blanket thrown over his legs. A few candles are burning and lighting the room as the sun slowly sets over the horizon in the narrow window Ten is facing.

He can’t help thinking he wants to stay in this moment forever.

More worrying clattering in the kitchen asks for his attention, but he keeps gazing intently at the page. He smirks to himself, anticipating the moment when the other boy will get tired of calling. He feels the couch dipping and suddenly another body is weighing him down.

“Teeeen,” Johnny whines as the former tries to escape his embrace.

After a few seconds of kicking and pushing, Ten manages to balance himself on his elbows and sit against the armrest.

“I’m hungry,” Johnny continues with a pout on his lips.

Ten resists the urge to pinch the other’s cheek, and gestures towards his book instead.

“I’m busy,” he tries to argue. “Aren’t you big enough to cook for yourself?”

“I’m a baby.”

“You’re 24,” Ten says fondly, a twinkle in his eyes.

How the tall, built boy manages to look like a small puppy is still beyond him. Johnny somehow succeeds in snaking his way between Ten and the backrest of the sofa and so he rests his chin on Ten’s shoulder, his gaze focused. His cheeks are squished between Ten and the fabric of the couch, his hair tickling Ten’s face. They’re so close Ten can feel him taking a breath before he asks:

“What are you reading?”

“I just started it, it’s called _The Giver_.”

Johnny nods slightly.

“I read that one in high school. It was nice, but the ending is sad,” he comments.

For a moment they just sit there pressed against each other, in silence. Ten can feel Johnny’s chest move slowly against his ribs, soothing. He wants to revise his previous statement. _This_ is the moment he wants to stay suspended in. He suddenly realises he’s been reading the same sentence over and over again.

_“The worst part of holding the memories is not the pain. It's the loneliness of it. Memories need to be shared.”_

He gently smiles to himself, before he feels Johnny shuffling around. He feels the other boy pressing a peck against his neck.

“Okay I get it,” he declares, getting up.

He puts the book down on the kitchen counter, pages open facing down to keep his page, and smiles back as he throws himself onto the other boy sitting on the sofa.

 

_Perhaps, these are the benefits of heartbreak_

_Don’t worry, I’m busy as you can see_

_I’ve got a full schedule. You just worry about yourself_

_Thanks for the task you left behind for me_

He meets Jaehyun by accident a few months later. They’re both at a conference at the modern art museum. It’s awkward. First of all, because Jaehyun has never existed in Ten’s world without Johnny, and so they feel like two strangers, barely acquainted, but still somehow feel like they know each other enough to be obligated to talk to each other.

(Secondly, Ten knows perfectly well that anything he says, Jaehyun will most likely relay to him. He’s not sure. He hopes, or does he? Months, and still his heart is conflicted, at war with itself. He would like to think that if he didn’t matter, things would be easier.)

They exchange small talk. Yes, Jaehyun’s masters is going well. Yes, Ten is still practicing and working at the studio, waiting for the part that will allow his career to take off (He doesn’t say that it’s too late. He can’t allow himself to think that.).

Ten doesn’t _dislike_ Jaehyun. He’s a more than decent person, always nice, despite being quiet and reserved. There’s just a little tug on his heartstrings when the other boy asks:

“B-But how have you _really_ been?”

He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t feel like opening up, because truthfully what is there to say? That he doesn’t feel anything?

“I’m good. Way better.” He forces a smile onto his lips. Knows that Jaehyun doesn’t know him well enough to notice.

He _is_ good. At first, he was stunned. Knocked off his feet. He tried to go on, but like the pieces of a clock hastily glued back together, it wasn’t long until he fell apart. He cried and cried and cried, tears he didn’t know he even had until they stopped. And he was just left with the same feeling that has followed him everywhere since.

“Honestly, between my full schedule at the studio and the kids needing constant baby-sitting, I’ve kept my hands occupied lately! You don’t have to worry about me, I have plenty to do!”

Maybe his tone is a little too lively, maybe he isn’t as good of an actor as he used to be.

Jaehyun doesn’t seem to notice, he smiles and nods, visibly satisfied. Ten knows he’s probably expecting questions. But he just can’t bring himself to do it, because he wants to hate Johnny, he doesn’t _want_ to care. (And yet he does and the questions keep him up sometimes.)

People around them start moving back towards their seats, and Jaehyun excuses himself, not before a promise to maybe catch up with each other sometimes (they most likely won’t and that’s fine).

And so Ten walks back towards where he was sitting, filled by the feeling that has been his companion for months.

Emptiness.

Emptiness and regrets.

 

_Lie down on the couch and turn the TV on_

_Already been flipping through the channels for half an hour…_

_Hear the abandoned phone ring_

_Doesn’t matter who._

He’s lying on the couch, navigating the channels, looking for something remotely interesting, which is a difficult task when it’s 2am. The umpteenth rerun of that popular tv show. A political debate between 2 obnoxiously entitled men. He watches that documentary about the discovery of Mayan runes for a few minutes before settling for that channel broadcasting old music videos from when he wasn’t even born yet. He lowers the volume and lets himself drift away.

The thing is, Ten doesn’t talk about his feelings as much as psychology says he should. He simply doesn’t have anything to say. He knows he’s probably lying to himself, that there’s probably something hidden under the seemingly endless emptiness in his chest, his limbs, his head.

His phone starts ringing somewhere. Wherever Ten abandoned it last. At that time of the night, it can only be a handful of people. He waits for the ringing to stop. It does after a few seconds. He waits again. If it were really urgent, a second call would follow. Taeyong knows Ten a little too well by now and they have the same crazy schedule. Jisung is just an annoying piece of shit (whom Ten loves dearly) who never sleeps at night and calls to talk about life and space and theories about the latest TV show they’re watching together. The phone stays lifeless, and silence overtakes the small flat again.

It’s deafening.

Ten doesn’t talk about his feelings, but he doesn’t talk about how he’s doing either. When his parents call, he doesn’t complain about the bills, and his mother worries that he eats too much takeout. When his sister calls, he doesn’t tell her about how empty his bed feels. They don’t know he wasn’t single in the first place. When Jisung, Renjun and Chenle come over, they raise their eyebrows at that framed picture which has been lying on the floor for weeks, but he doesn’t explain why he can’t get himself to pick it up.

When Taeyong eventually manages to corner him, Ten does talk a little. He says he misses the tall boy whose presence in his life he had slowly come to take for granted. Taeyong says there’s nothing weird about that. Ten talks about how he can’t go to that one supermarket because he’s afraid he’s going to see him. Ten talks and Taeyong seems satisfied.

Ten doesn’t talk about the countless sleepless nights, staring at the ceiling, looking for something, _anything_.

He turns his attention back to the TV where a-ha’s _Take On Me_ faintly plays.

* * *

 

“Your feet are cold.”

“Sounds like a _you_ problem, not a _me_ problem.” Ten teases him, snuggling closer to Johnny under the blanket, resting his bare feet against Johnny’s calves.

Snow is falling outside the window, and they’re once again watching _The Princess Bride_. Although Ten had been sceptical (Is it a kissing movie?), Johnny had managed to convince him to give it a chance (it’s a _classic_ ). And he had been converted.

They’d watched that movie together so many times they could both recite by heart large parts of it. They would find themselves quoting it accidentally in conversations. They’d try to convert the kids too, but only Renjun had truly fallen in love with _Princess Bride_ as much as they did, and so it remained their own little habit.

Ten indulges in Johnny’s warmth as the mysterious masked man battles Inigo Montoya, his body pressed against the other boy’s.

They don’t necessarily agree on why they love _The Princess Bride_ so much. Johnny thinks it’s hilarious, and it is. But when Westley declares “ _Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while._ ”, Ten always tears up a little. And he knows it’s kind of stupid, but he’s always loved a good love story and he just _feels_ so much for the characters.

“Are you going to cry again?”

He looks up at Johnny from where he’s pressed against his chest and catches the other’s smirk.

“She thought he was DEAD!” he tries to argue, a pout on his lips.

“Oh no, not the pout” Johnny chokes as Ten throws a light punch in his chest.

Johnny starts tickling him, and Ten squeals as he tries to fight back and escape the other’s arms. He’s about to make his escape when Johnny gets a hold of his leg and drags him back. He tries to tickle Johnny too but damn, he just never seems to be able to. There’s a moment of confusion until Ten ends up pinned against the sofa, Johnny on top of him, both a mess of giggles and limbs.

“Surrender,” Johnny says in his low voice, breathless, his face hovering over him.

“You mean you wish to surrender to me? Very well, I accept.” Ten manages to say between his giggles.

Johnny smiles and leans in, as they both close their eyes right before their lips touch.

_I make plans and get ready to go out_

_Right now, it’s 11:30. Would’ve normally fallen asleep_

_These days, I’m invited here and there_

_Busy life. Been a while, so I welcome it even more_

He can’t refuse Taeyong’s, Sicheng’s and Doyoung’s invitation to go out. Taeyong knows his schedule and so on a Friday night they’re in a bar on the other side of town. Ten knows he shouldn’t drink, knows it won’t lead him anywhere. He knows he’s a sad drunk, and yet he orders that cloyingly sweet cocktail. They lose Sicheng at some point, as they always do. Taeyong gets worried over the baby and so he disappears as well, seeking the lanky Chinese boy.

Ten is left at their table with Doyoung, who after Taeyong must be the 2nd most sober of the group. They sit in silence for a long time before Ten starts sniffling a little. Doyoung lifts his gaze from his phone to the boy across the table.

“Are you okay?”

Ten is ready to give his premade answer.

“No.”

He’s not really sure why he says it. Doyoung and him aren’t that close. But there’s something about their isolation in the booth and the loud music filling the room and the questionable smells in the air.

“Are you still thinking about Johnny?”

Ten chuckles. A low, sad chuckle.

“Fuck. Yes I am. I feel so empty.”

Doyoung nods, his features unreadable.

“I miss him. I miss his presence in my life. He was the best thing about it.”

He feels that Doyoung is about to argue that last part so he adds quickly:

“I miss him so much you have no idea.”

Doyoung nurses his 3rd bottle of beer for a while, before answering:

“Nostalgia is a liar. Nothing was ever as good as you remember it to be. There’s a reason you don’t talk to Johnny anymore, there’s a reason you’re not part of each other’s lives. Don’t trust nostalgia.”

For what seems like a long time, Ten is speechless. Truth is, Doyoung and him never really got along. Their personalities are too strong, too different. But Ten has to admit, they are similar. And Doyoung knows what it feels like to be disappointed, he knows that so well he says he doesn’t believe in love anymore. Been rejected too many times. ‘I am good at walking away. Rejection teaches you how to reject.’

And god, if only Ten could do that, but Johnny was the first, was supposed to be the one.

“I- you’re right. I’m just wondering what I did wrong? Why I couldn’t make him stay.”

Doyoung quirks an eyebrow at Ten’s confession.

“It’s nothing you did, Ten. It’s sad but some people just aren’t meant to be together forever.”

He nods, slowly. He wants to cry, but it seems that all his tears have been shed already. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe that’s how he’ll move on, eventually. People change. Memories don’t. And that’s fine, he wants to think. What is done is done.

Taeyong finally comes back, dragging Sicheng by the ear, and so Doyoung and Ten act like nothing happened.

 

_A hectic day. Unstable just like me_

_I try to use them up but even then one is left untouched_

_Not sure if it’s my time or my feelings?_

_Tomorrow will be a rerun of today_

_Honestly, I’m afraid that my heart remains empty, despite my attempts to fill it up_

When he finally gets home from baby-sitting the kids, he’s thankful for the leftovers in his fridge. He tries not to think about how he used to have someone waiting for him. Truthfully, the kids don’t need baby-sitting. Renjun has graduated from high school already, as Jaemin has, and Chenle and Jisung can usually take care of themselves. Well, Jisung can usually find someone to take care of him, since he tends to break everything he touches, and his cooking skills are debatable, to say the least.

Still, he’s thankful for the time he gets to spend with them, playing Dungeon and Dragon (they started when Renjun discovered the game and improvised himself DM) or watching vine compilations and playing games like cards against humanity that make Ten regret the days when they were still young and innocent.

He acts like it’s nothing, but sometimes he looks at them and remembers the days when Jisung was still shorter than him, when Chenle still spoke in a high pitch voice, when Renjun still had that cute snaggletooth. He thinks of those days fondly, and maybe that’s a bit of hope for him. You can miss something but not want it back.

He retrieves the leftover chili and heats it up in the microwave, mentally checking his schedule for the next day. Nothing out of the ordinary. Work, eat, sleep. It’s been a while since his days have been eventful, but it’s alright, he tells himself. Maybe he should start a new sport, but he doesn’t really have time for that. Maybe he should learn a new language or take a break from work and travel.

Maybe he should, maybe he should, but in the end, he’s stuck in his routine. It’s not bad, but sometimes he’s afraid he’ll never fill that little ache in his chest.

* * *

 

“Let’s travel the world someday.”

They’re lying in bed. It’s 3 am, and neither of them is asleep. Ten is almost reaching the end of his book. Johnny has just spent the last hour petting his hair while staring at the ceiling. Ten looks up from his book.

“Where then?”

Johnny seems to think for a while.

“First, to Chicago. I want you to see where I grew up. And then to Thailand. I want to see where you grew up.”

Ten nods.

“Sounds like a plan. That’s not what I call ‘the world’ though.”

“Of course,” Johnny hums softly. “Then we’ll go to Europe, to all the cliché places.”

“Let’s go to every art museum we find!” Ten adds, eyes sparkling.

“We’ll go to the Opéra Garnier. And the Bolshoi.”

Ten puts his book down, and lies back against Johnny, intertwining their legs, the other’s arm finding its way around his waist. He rests his head against the other’s shoulder.

“Oh, is someone feeling cuddly tonight?”

That’s wrong. Ten is always feeling cuddly.

“Oh, shut up!” Ten laughs. “Why do you have to ruin every single moment?”

Johnny presses him closer, and Ten can feel his little giggles by the way his chest moves. With his free hand, Johnny reaches for Ten’s, and interlaces their fingers. He tries hard not to blush. They’ve been together for years, and yet he gets flustered still. Johnny brings their hands to his face and softly gives them a kiss, before nuzzling his nose in Ten’s hair.

“One day, alright?” his voice is full of sleep.

Ten hums in agreement, and they both slowly surrender to the night.

 

_The traffic lights are blinking_

_And the autumn leaves are rolling on the ground_

_They do their job_

_But why am I like this?_

 

_The nights are still bright without you_

_And autumn, too, will turn into spring_

_But why am I like this?_

_Are you like this too?_

And when finally they meet again, it’s at an ungodly hour. It had been their time. The blue hours of the early morning, when nocturnal animals have retreated into hiding and other animals are still fast asleep. A time that only belongs to lovers and loners.

Ten has always loved those hours.

And one fateful, sleepless night, he decides to take a walk through the sleeping city to appease the stinge in his heart.

“Ten?”

He freezes because he would still remember that voice anywhere. He slowly turns around and there, in the middle of the street, he stands. Johnny Seo.

“What are you doing here?”

He manages to not stumble on the words, keeping the fluttering in his stomach in check.

“How are you?” the other asks. It’s almost like he cares.

He ponders for a moment. Isn’t really sure what to say. He decides to say the truth, a truth he hasn’t admitted to anyone but himself.

“I feel tired. I’m just so tired.”

It doesn’t occur to him that it’s the middle of the night, and they’re standing in the middle of the road. There’s not a single sound to be heard around them. There is no car traffic, almost as if their owners knew this time didn’t belong to them.

Johnny seems confused. Maybe that’s not the answer he’s looking for. How ironic, Ten thinks, that they should meet like this. His first nocturnal walk in weeks, and Johnny happens to be walking as well, far from his place. Or maybe he’s moved. Who knows. Who cares. Not Ten. The other boy finally asks:

“Is that all?”

“That’s all there is.”

There’s a long silence, the awkwardness of two people who used to be 2 sides of the same coin and slowly became strangers.

“Do you think of me?”

He can’t believe his ears. He can’t believe the other would have the nerve to ask that. And yet, he understands. There’s a form of relief, knowing he too will forever be part of Johnny’s past. Knowing he won’t be the only one remembering.

‘Like a habit I keep reaching for your hand that I _know_ isn’t here.’ He wants to answer. Instead, he shrugs.

“You learn to lose yourself in daily gestures. You learn to numb the pain by numbing everything else. I learnt that the best way to stop thinking about you was to stop thinking.”

And that’s terribly sad, but that’s how it is. One day, it’ll stop hurting. One day, everything will be alright. It’s okay if he’s not alright just yet. The lampposts have long turned off. Power savings, they say. It’s so dark Ten can’t make out Johnny’s features when he asks, maybe more to himself than to Ten directly:

“Is it meaningless to apologize?”

Ten doesn’t hesitate one second before he answers:

“Never.”

“I'm so sorry.”

He would’ve smiled, had it not hurt so much. He wants to go. He wants to run away so bad. But before he can, it escapes his lips.

“Tell me you cared. Even at the end.”

With the darkness, he doesn’t catch Johnny’s nod. Maybe it’s for the best.

He lets out a small sigh.

“If you’re doing well, that’s a relief.” Johnny finally says.

And just like that, he walks away, as easily as he walked away from his life, leaving Ten alone with his doubts. He stands there for a long time, as the wind gently blows through his hair. He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes. He throws his head back and looks up.

Not a single star in the Seoul sky tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> hey!! you made it to the end! i wrote this bc i felt stuck on my current ambitious project, and i had this idea of a fic based off of the benefits of heartbreak for a while. i hope you enjoyed it!!  
> you can check out the rest of my work on ao3  
> [buy me a coffee!](http://ko-fi.com/rcmanov)  
> find me on twitter screaming [@kygotseven](http://twitter.com/kygotseven)
> 
> remember that kudos and comments and bookmarks keep authors alive (especially me bc uni and life in general is killing me) and see you next time!! once i actually finish my ambitious project!!


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